Dare
by Dark Amystika
Summary: The Majestic Theatre is being renovated. Stories of a "Phantom of the Majestic" spread, and kids are dared to go inside, only to come out babbling about dark voices and laughter. Then one girl goes in, but doesn't come out. What-or who-has she found? R&R!
1. The Phantom of the Majestic

Disclaimer: I swore I would never do something like this, and really, I shouldn't be with all the unfinished fanfics and original fictions I have floating around the Internet, but I just couldn't resist sheepish grin don't hurt me. I don't own any "Phantom" stuff, or the Majestic Theatre, etc., etc., and so on and so forth. I only own what you don't recognize.

The Phantom of the Majestic

Broadway's Majestic Theatre had truly earned its name. The outer façade may not have been much to look at, but then, none of them were. The inside was beautiful, with its golden sculptures of angels and demons, sweeping balconies and mezzanines, elegantly old-fashioned curtains, and exquisite gilded seats with their coverings of deep red velvet. However, the grand theatre had become the victim of neglect over the years, and had to be shut down for repairs. Despite all warnings and threats, neighborhood kids continued to sneak inside on a dare, telling each other that the old theatre was haunted, and that was why the repairs were slow in coming. If they came at all!

The favourite and most chilling tale was a new-age "Phantom of the Opera" story, as that had been the longest-running production in that theatre, and it was supposed to start up again immediately after the repairs were completed. Kids who went in often came running out, babbling garbled notions about hearing a dark voice, or maniacal laughter echoing through the theatre, telling them to get out. No one had ever managed to stay inside for the whole hour they were dared to. The older kids scoffed and teased, claiming that those who had gone in had only imagined the voices because they had expected to hear them, and yet they themselves never went in. Their younger siblings dared them, but they declared that a dare from a "minor" didn't count. There was no honor in it for them if they went in on a child's dare. And the country kids who came to tour the city, well, they just tore them to pieces. They went out of their way to make sure that the voices were heard. And yet, they never seemed to be near the theatre when their own brothers and sisters came out screaming that the "Majestic Ghost" had spoken to them, demanding they leave. One girl even swore she saw what looked like a noose or a lasso dangling above the stage. She didn't get close enough to see, and she didn't stay long enough to care. All the older kids denied having hung a lasso there, even amongst themselves. But so it went on, and it probably would have continued to go on until the Majestic was repaired, if it hadn't been for one country girl with the attitude of a city kid.


	2. Dare Double Dare

Dare, Double Dare

"And you expect me to believe all this?"

"It's the truth!" insisted the storyteller of the group. "What do you want, a demonstration?"

"Yeah," said the girl calmly.

"Well, we can't do that," admitted the storyteller, "but I swear, Ray it's all true!"

"Don't call me 'Ray', Greg. My name's Rayne," said Rayne.

"Fine, Rayne," replied Greg with an indifferent shrug. "But it's still true."

"I'm sure," said Rayne, pointedly rolling her eyes. "You can't image how times I've been told a house is "truly" haunted, and I go inside only to find dust, cobwebs, and a group of guys in sheets trying to scare me. A haunted theatre is no different."

"This one is," said Greg seriously.

"It's so easy to say that. Where's the proof of anything you've said?"

Greg didn't reply, just gestured to group of his friends standing near. A younger boy came out and looked up at Rayne silently.

"My brother, Tom," said Greg. "He went inside a while ago, and he hasn't spoken since. He came out white as a sheet and shaking. No one knows why for sure, except us. He saw something. Or someone." Rayne gazed at the catatonic little boy.

"May I see if I can get him to talk?" she asked.

"Be my guest," replied Greg.

Rayne knelt down in front of Tom. He seemed to looking not at her but past her, through her.

"Look at me," she said gently. Tom did for a moment, then his gaze dropped to the pavement. "Look in my eyes." When he didn't, she gently raised his face and looked into his eyes. Her own grey eyes narrowed. His widened, almost in fear. "What do you see? Tell me what happened. Tell me what you saw in there."

"Your eyes," he croaked. "They're just like..._his_."

"Whose?"

"A faceless shadow. Something hanging over the stage. He laughed at me when I was afraid. Had to get out."

"Faceless? What do you mean?"

"No face. Just white. And eyes. Eyes like yours, only colourless, not grey."

"Where did you see the eyes?"

"Everywhere. First here, now there, moving all around."

"Hmm."

"I made Him angry, didn't I?"

"I don't think so. You were just curious. It's all right now. It's over. You're safe." When Tom didn't respond, she hugged him close. "It's OK. Go back to your brother now, he'll protect you." Tom walked slowly over and stood by his brother, who was staring at Rayne in astonishment. She smiled and straightened. "You just have to know how to talk to kids."

"Well, do you believe us now?" asked Greg.

"I'd still have to see it for myself," she replied evasively.

"Then you'll take the dare?" asked Greg, excitement growing in the small crowd of kids.

"Dares are for tiresome children with nothing else to do," she replied.

"Oh really?" asked Greg, annoyed. "Then I double dare you. _I triple-dog-dare you._" The other kids murmured amongst themselves. No one had ever turned down a triple-dog-dare. But it looked like Rayne was going to be the first. She gazed at them in thoughtful silence.

"Aw, forget it, Greg," scoffed one boy. "She's just a country girl."

"Do I look like "just a country girl" to you?" asked Rayne. The boy started to retort that she did, then he took a good look at her. Steel-toed Demonia boots, black fishnet stockings, fringe-edged denim shorts, light blue T-shirt with a motorcycle and the words "Biker Chick" on the front, not to mention her jewelry. Metal pentacle slave bracelet, heavy dragon thumb ring, Gothic cross around her neck, double piercings in her ears, tiny daggers in the second holes, serpentine dragons with red eyes in the first, her thick hair, dyed black, pulled back away from her face, no makeup. She did not look like just a country girl. Even her strong, almost overpowering, perfume was Gothic, heady and dizzying. 'Black Rose' she told them later it was.

"If a triple-dog-dare doesn't interest you, then let's make it more interesting," offered Greg. "You go in for one hour. But you have to bring us a souvenir from inside, and you have to sing on the stage." Rayne smiled.

"Your offer is acceptable," she said, "but I'll do you one better. _I will stay inside the theatre for one full twenty-four hour day_. And if I do, you each pay me twenty-four bucks, one for each hour. What say you?" Everyone was excited at this and urged Greg to accept. He grinned and held out his hand.

"We have a deal."

Rayne grinned back and shook his hand firmly. "Just one more question."

"Shoot."

"May I bring my friends with me?" She gestured to the German Shepherds sitting at her sides, one pure black, one pure white, both with ice-blue eyes. Greg smiled at them.

"I don't see why not."

"Good. But I can't go in now. I'll meet you here tonight, say, midnight?"

"We'll be here. See you then." The new, though shaky, friends parted ways. All there was left to do was wait until midnight.

****

New York City is never truly quiet, but the air was so thick with anticipation that you could've heard a pin drop on the pavement outside the Majestic Theatre. The group of New York kids had arrived first, and was waiting to see if this country girl with a New York attitude was going to turn out to be a no-show. But soon they heard the soft _thud!_ of her boots and the clicking of her dogs' nails on the sidewalk. A tall figure in a black cloak approached them with their hood up. There was a brief pause, then she swept the hood back to reveal her face. It was Rayne.

"Nice cloak," commented Greg.

"Thanks," she replied. "My mom made it for me. I figured it would help hide me."

"Sure did," said another boy. "We couldn't see ya at first."

"That was the idea," replied Rayne with a smile. "Are we ready?"

"If you are," said Greg. "We've got something for you-" he broke off as a small knapsack was handed to him "-just some stuff you might need. In here there's food, a flashlight, some blankets, and a pillow. We figured if you're voluntarily staying in there for a full day, it's the least we can do."

"You're too kind," said Rayne, taking the sack. Then she smiled. "Really, I mean it. Thanks."

"No problem," replied Greg. "Now, there's a way in over here." He directed her to a boarded-up window and pulled the boards away effortlessly. "We'll meet you out here at midnight tomorrow night."

"I'll be here," said Rayne. "Good-night." With that, she entered through the window, her dogs following behind her, and Greg closed it up again behind her.

"D'ya think we'll ever see her again?" asked one of the younger group members.

"Of course we will," said Greg firmly. "After all, there's no such thing as ghosts."


	3. Who's There!

Disclaimer: I don't own "Angels Arise".

Who's There?!

"Hmm. Charming place," commented Rayne dryly. "I must get the name of the decorator. This place has really gone to seed since I was here last. Ah, I remember how the theatre was then, how beautiful it was, and it shall be again. It had better." She ran her hand lovingly over the dust-covered velvet seats, those that were still in one piece at least, as she walked towards the stage. She climbed up on it and walked to the centre, facing the audience. "What should I sing, what do you think?" she asked, addressing her dogs, who had flopped down in front of the orchestra pit. "Hmm. I suppose I should sing "Think of Me" or something else from "Phantom", but I just don't feel it. What else, ah...oh!" she said suddenly, smiling as she hit upon an idea. Clearing her throat, she began to sing:

_"Angels arise, as night must fall,_

_And radiant eye bear down on us all_

_If the Powers That Be be beyond our call, then_

_Angels arise, as the night must surely fall_

_And for ev'ry pit of darkness there's a light so pure divine_

_And I ask You to protect me from those gasps and shudders and those shivers down my spine_

_Angels arise, as night must fall_

_And all-knowing eyes stare down on us all_

_If the Powers That Be be beyond our call, then_

_Angels arise, as the night must surely fall!_

_There are things that must magic_

_There's no explaining why or how_

_And there's ev'ry sign that Once-Upon-A-Time is starting here and now_

_There's ev'ry sign that Once-Upon-A-Time is starting right here and now."_

She ended her song, catching her breath. For all her rough-and-tumble exterior and deep speaking voice, she loved to sing and had a sweet and rather high voice. However, "Angels Arise" was really out of her range, and she knew it perfectly well, but she still liked singing it. She just needed to catch her breath. Had she not been so breathless and disoriented, she might have sensed the presence of another in the theatre, not far from her.

The figure stirred in his sleep. Something was disturbing him, but it was a most pleasant disturbance. Probably a dream. But no, his eyes were opening and he could still hear it. Someone singing, high above him.

"What, am I dead finally?" he asked himself, rising slowly and shaking his head. No, he couldn't be. The sound was too pure, too near. "Ah. It's another one. Well, she'll fare no better than the others, I'm sure. Why can't these stupid kids just leave me alone? Never mind, better just deal with this one first." So saying, he reached for his cloak and mask and made for the stage.

"Wow, I have always wanted to do that," said Rayne, now sitting on the edge of the stage eating one of the sandwiches she had found in the pack she had been given. "Well, technically I've wanted to play Christine since I was in fifth grade, but does it really matter since I'm talking to myself?" Of course, there was no answer. She finished her sandwich and rose. "I've always wanted to take a closer look at this stage. Now I have the chance." So saying, she walked all around the stage, studying it carefully, trying to if it truly was one giant trapdoor divided into smaller segments like she had heard. She thought she saw a hairline crack in the floor and bent down to see. As she straightened, however, the trapdoor suddenly fell open beneath her, causing her to plummet, screaming in surprise, to a pile of hay-stuffed burlap sacks under the stage.

_"Ow!"_ she cried. "Son of a bitch! What the hell just happened?!" Cursing, she picked herself up, brushed herself off, and looked for a way out. It was difficult, as she could hardly see her hand in front of her. She had good night-vision, though, so she simply had to wait for her eyes to adjust. Once they had, she looked around for some way out. By and by she spied a ladder. In reaching for it, however, she sliced her palm open on a sharp piece of metal sticking out from the wall.

"_YOW!"_ she screeched, clutching her injured and bloody hand. Cursing again, she looked around for something to bind it with. She soon saw a white handkerchief lying on one of the steps of the ladder, and she took it quickly and tied it tightly around her hand, using her teeth to hold it when she needed two hands. That done, she returned to the ladder. This she opened up beneath the trapdoor and climbed out. Her dogs were on the stage looking down into the trapdoor when she came out, and they pounced on her and began immediately licking her face as soon as she had climbed all the way out. She started laughing uncontrollably, and had to push them away to catch her breath.

"It's OK boys, I'm all right," she said soothingly, "I'm not hurt." The huge Shepherds didn't look entirely convinced, but then, what does a convinced dog look like? Her black Shepherd nudged her bloody hand, whining a little. Rayne looked down at it. "It'll be all right," she said. "As long as I keep it bound with this handkerchief..." her voice trailed off as she realized that the handkerchief in question _had not been on the ladder when she first saw it_. But then, how had it gotten there?

"Well, it's always possible that I overlooked it," she said, shrugging it off. "No, don't lick it boy. It's not good for you." She gently pushed her white dog's nose away from her hand, for he had indeed been trying to lick it and make it better. "Well, I'm tired. Where's a good place to sleep in here?" She looked around and noticed, though not for the first time, that the boat from "The Phantom of the Opera" was resting on the stage between the centre and the back wall. She smiled and went over to it. As she had thought, there was only one seat in it. The rest was padded, so it could "transform" into a bed after "Music of the Night". She slipped off her cloak and draped it over the end of the boat, took the pillow and blankets out of her sack, placed the pillow on the seat, climbed in, laid down, and covered herself with the blankets. "'Night boys," she called to her dogs, who had lain down on either side of the boat. With that, she closed her eyes and drifted off. However, she grew restless soon, for she unconsciously knew that she was being watched.

The dark figure stood over the sleeping Rayne for some time, gazing down on her. It had been a while since he was so close to a young girl like this, and he found himself physically attracted to her.

"Beautiful," he murmured, reaching out to touch her cheek, then quickly drawing back. He didn't want to wake her. But he wanted to touch her, feel her, smell her hair, hold her close...he shook his head to clear it. Hell, he didn't even know who she was and he was thinking this way about her! Still...carefully he reached out and touched her hair very lightly. It was soft and silky, but black dye came away on his fingers.

"I wonder what her natural colour is." Gazing at her, he noticed the sodden red bandage on her hand. "Oh. I see she found that. I didn't mean for her to get hurt. She definitely needs to put medicine on that, or it'll get infected. I wonder..." He had the medicinal supplies needed down below where he had been sleeping before, but should he bring them to her, or her to them? Deciding to fetch them to her, he turned and left. He returned soon, knelt beside the boat, and gingerly unwrapped her hand and took a look at the gash across her palm. He grimaced when he saw it, not from disgust, but from knowing that he caused it in a way. He applied some antibiotic to it and wrapped some gauze around it. That done, he nodded in satisfaction and placed her hand gently on her stomach. As he was pulling away, however, she moaned and twisted around a little. He quickly drew back, but she caught a fleeting glimpse of him as her eyes opened slowly.

"Erik?" she whispered. She pushed herself up, hissed in pain from her hand, and saw the new bandage. "Now I _know_ I'm not alone in here," she breathed in wonder. She looked around. "Hello? Is someone there?" The figure in the shadows bit his lip, trying to keep from moving, from making any noise. But he must have made some sound, because Rayne suddenly snapped around to face him, her eyes wide. "Who's there?!"


	4. Angel or Ghost?

Disclaimer: I don't own "The Phantom of the Opera", as in the song.

A/N: Wow, this story has gotten a way better response than I had anticipated. I was afraid it was going to suck, as most of this spinoffs tend to, but I guess not, huh? Thanks a lot!:-)

Angel or Ghost?

Rayne was looking directly at him, yet she didn't seem to see him. Eventually, she relaxed, slowly, and laid back down, equally slowly. She lay there for a while, until her eyes began to close of their own accord. She fought to keep them open, but she was too tired. When he was reasonably sure she was asleep, the figure crept back out to her and gazed down upon her once again. Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached out to touch her cheek. As soon as his cold fingers brushed her skin her eyes snapped open and she gasped in surprise and fright.

_"Cernnonous! Asmodeus!"_ she gasped. The figure frowned and drew back.

"I sincerely hope you are not referring to me," he said rather coldly as she sat up, still staring at him.

"Not at all," she said, composing herself. "I'm just wondering where my dogs are."

"Dogs?" the figure repeated, noticing uneasily that there were indeed two German Shepherds quite close to him. Rayne smiled a little darkly.

"Don't worry. They won't attack unless they think I'm in danger," she said.

"How comforting," he muttered, watching the huge dogs. "Why did you call me 'Erik' before?"

"Why were you watching me while I slept?" Rayne retorted.

"It's rude to answer a question with a question."

"It's rude to stare at someone while they're sleeping!"

"Fair enough. But still, why did you call me that?"

"Because that's who I thought you were."

"Huh?"

"When I was ten I was really depressed. My family was at war with each other, as were my friends, my grades had gone right down the drain because my teacher was an incompetent imbecile, and I tried to kill myself. When no one was home, I stole into my parents' bathroom and took a bottle of iodine that my dad uses to gargle with when he has a sore throat, and I almost drank it. Just as I was raising it to my lips, someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I thought it was my dad, and I started crying. 'Dad' told me he wouldn't let go of me until I put the bottle down. I did, and spun around and starting crying into him. He held me close, comforting me as he led me back to my room and told me to lie down and go to sleep, and that everything would be OK. I believed him, and did what he said. My mom came in later to wake me up for dinner, and it was then that I realized something both frightening and wonderful. _There had been no one home who could have stopped me from killing myself."_

"Are you saying it was a…ghost or something?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I'm still not sure who or what it-he-was, or is, but ever since then I've seen him. At least, parts of him. Sometimes I'll see his hand near me, or something like that. And I've had dreams of him. So now I'm sure he's Erik."

"Erik as in the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Uh-huh. When I saw you hovering above me, I though it was him."

"I wasn't hovering!"

"Whatever. But why did I tell you this?" There was a long pause, during which the two appraised each other. The dark figure looked to be little older than Rayne herself, but it was hard to tell in the poor light.

"So, who are you?" they asked simultaneously. They looked at each other for a second, then burst out laughing.

"I think _I_ should be asking that," said the figure.

"Oh really?" replied Rayne. "And why is that?"

"You're intruding in my domain."

"I didn't realize. My name's Rayne."

The boy held out his hand. "Erik." Rayne arched her eyebrows in interest as she shook his hand.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Weird coincidence, huh?"

"Cool." Another pause. Rayne rose, stepped out of the boat, and walked into a wide patch of moonlight coming in through one of the boarded windows. "Come into the light," she said. Erik hesitated. "Please? Look, I've shown myself to you, can't you show yourself to me?"

"You'd better remember what happened to Christine when she asked that of the Phantom," warned Erik.

"I am not Christine," replied Rayne. "But if you're more comfortable in the shadows, then that's fine. I'll stay here." Erik fidgeted for a moment, then sighed and walked towards her slowly. When she saw him, Rayne felt the same physical attraction to him that he had felt to her. He was tall and lean, with longish black angled around his whole head, short in the back and down just past his bottom lip in the front. He was rather pale, probably from lack of sun, and had adorable deep brown puppy-dog eyes. This confused Rayne, for Greg's brother had said that the "Ghost" had had grey eyes like hers, but she ignored that, admiring his clothes. He wore a loose white poet shirt, black pants, his cloak, and a white half-mask like the ones in the musical. Rayne thought at first this was just for show, but something inside told her this wasn't true. in the meantime, she was trying not to stare at him while not looking like she didn't like looking at him at the same time. Needless to say, this was difficult. It became easier when she noticed he was doing the same. They smiled at each other.

"Is that your mask?" she asked by and by.

"No. It's a prop from the musical," replied Erik. "I'm just 'borrowing' it."

"I see," said Rayne. "So _you're_ the 'Phantom of the Majestic' then."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't like people disturbing me. I live below here. I didn't have to become a 'Phantom' until the kids of the neighborhood started coming in here _looking_ for a Phantom. I just want to be left alone."

"Then I'm sorry I bothered you."

"No, not at all! I've just never thought that one of the kids would come in here at night. I thought I had scared them all away."

"I'm sure they'd like for you to think so. The fact is, the older kids think their younger siblings only see you because they expect to. No one believes in you." For reasons unknown to her, Erik burst out laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing, nothing, it's just so funny!" he chortled. "I spent my whole life thinking no one knew I existed, and now they don't!" A smile tugged at the corner of Rayne's mouth.

"Well I suppose in that case it would be viewed as amusing," she said, managing to keep a straight face for a moment, then she was laughing with him. When their mirth subsided, she ventured to ask, "So, what are you doing in here anyway?"

"I told you, I live here," Erik replied.

"You're a runaway?"

"You could say that." Neither spoke for a time. Rayne could see that Erik didn't want to talk about himself, but she couldn't help asking:

"So, how long have you been living here? Don't you think your parents are worried about you?"

"And what's it to you!" he demanded angrily. "My God, it's a free country, isn't it? I can be here if I want! I should've known you'd start prying; they all do! You're no different!" He turned to storm off, but she stopped him with four simple words:

"You don't know me."

He stopped. Her voice was cold and low, the words reverberated around the empty theatre, ringing in his head. He didn't turn to her, though.

"You don't know me either," he said simply, and vanished back into the shadows.

"Erik, wait," Rayne said gently, but he didn't respond. She stood gazing after him for a time. Nothing. She sighed.

_"In sleep he sang to me,"_ she sang tentatively, hoping to get him to respond this way, _"in dreams he came."_ She waited a moment, but he didn't reappear.

_"That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name._

_And do I dream again? For now I find_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind!"_

Silence. Stillness. Shadows. But nothing more. She sighed sadly, tears inexplicably stinging her eyes as she turned away

_"Sing once again with me! Our strange duet,_

_My power over you grows stronger yet!"_

Rayne turned hopefully to see Erik emerging from the shadows again, singing in an exceptionally pleasant voice. He smiled at her forgivingly and continued:

_"And though you turn from me to glance behind_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind!"_

Rayne sang on, and their voices clashed and blended into one as they continued their song. Rayne impressed Erik by hitting all the high notes at the end of the song, though her voice broke on the very last and highest note. They just stood looking at each other for a moment.

"You sing beautifully," Erik said by and by, "but you're not supporting enough. Your voice is very breathy."

"And what are you, the Angel of Music?" teased Rayne, smiling to let him know she wasn't making fun of him. "I'm sorry for asking questions that made you uncomfortable before, but I didn't know they would."

"And I'm sorry for losing it," Erik replied. Rayne smiled again, and then covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. "Yes, it's late, isn't it. If you'd like, you can come down with me, I almost guarantee I can offer a more comfortable place to sleep than a boat." Rayne laughed.

"I'd be delighted," she said. Smiling Erik offered his arm. Rayne linked it with hers, and he led her away.


	5. The Deep Darkness

A/N: So sorry that it's taken me so long to update, but I've had a terrible case of Writer's Block. Just an FYI, I take suggestions from my reviewers, so if you have an idea for the story don't hesitate to suggest it. I'll credit whoever gave me the idea in the new chapters. BTW, I've started a new Phantom phic based on the recently released movie, but I don't know if I should post it yet, seeing as how I don't get to update often, but I'll leave that up to you.

The Deep Darkness

"Where are we going?" asked Rayne. "What is this?"

"How much do you know about "Phantom"?" asked Erik.

"A lot," replied Rayne.

"Well, you know how the underground lake originally got there?"

"In the story or in the real Opéra Populaire?"

"Either."

"Well, in the real Opéra Populaire there was an accident. The pipes exploded in the basement. The only safe way to deal with the water was to contain it under the opera house. In the story, it depends on what version you're reading or watching."

"Exactly right. The same thing happened here."

"There's an underground lake here? Under the Majestic?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"How? Same as I said before?"

"Yes. But it hasn't always been there. My father, a few years back, was hired to fix a leak in the pipes. But somehow the crack in the pipe expanded. He died there." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, I suppose. I never know how to respond to that. Anyway, the flood had to be contained, of course, so they did the same thing as they did in the Paris opera house. They quarantined the water in an underground lake."

"And you live there?"

"If you can call it living."

There was silence for a time. Rayne had thought her life was hard, but this was terrible. At length, she ventured to ask, "But what about your mother?" Erik's grip on her hand tightened.

"She died too," he said tightly. "A little after my father."

"Oh God," said Rayne. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I ask too many questions, I know."

"No, you don't," said Erik. "Not many people in this age have a driving curiosity like yours, they don't care about what's around them, what it all means, but you do. I admire that." Rayne smiled and squeezed his hand gently. "Here we are."

They had arrived at the edge of a murky lake, winding its way around the columns that formed the foundation of the theatre. Rayne looked around in wonder. So often since she was ten had she dreamed of the Phantom of the Opera singing to her, training her voice as he trained Christine's, taking her down to his world of music and night and candlelight. And now here she was.

"I'm afraid I don't have anything so fancy as a boat with a dragon's head that I carved myself, but I do have this," said Erik, directing her over to a good-sized raft secured to a post in the stone. "It may not look like much, but it gets me from one side of the lake to the other without hassle."

"It's great," said Rayne honestly. "Really." Erik smiled and offered his hand to help her step on. She took it, and stepped carefully onto the raft. It rocked beneath her, even more so when Erik climbed on after her, but, holding each other for support, they managed to keep from falling. When they realized that they were holding each other, they both pulled away quickly, blushing.

"What would your boyfriend say if he knew about this, I wonder," mumbled Erik. Rayne flushed even darker.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she said. "Never did. My love life is deader than…than Joseph Buquet after Act One, Scene Nine." Erik laughed, but glanced at her with renewed interest.

"Why's that?" he inquired.

"I'm a freak," replied Rayne easily. "You can't imagine…well, you probably can, actually, what I've been through."

"You're not a freak," said Erik, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, I _used_ to believe it," said Rayne. "Now I know better."

"What happened?"

"Oh, first it was preschool where my only friends were two boys, and since boys had "cooties" back then, I had them too so no one wanted to be around me. Same thing in kindergarten. All through elementary school, up to fifth grade, I was tormented because of a growth, to put it nicely, on my upper arm here-" she broke off and showed him a long, pale scar that ran down her right forearm "-kids kept saying it was a wart, and I was diseased, so anyone who came near me would be diseased too. I met my best friend in second grade, though, and she protected me from these ignorant children. But it still took its toll on me."

"And you never told anyone? Your teachers, your parents, surely they would have _done_ something-"

"I was always taught that, if you just ignore people who are making fun of you then they'll go away," Rayne intervened smoothly. "I tried to make them go away. It didn't work. So now here I am, _this_." And with a flap of her hand she summed herself up- Gothic exterior, harsh speech, reluctance to trust. Erik nodded, understanding. Yet, he sensed there was something she wasn't telling him. Well, there was something he wasn't telling her either. It was not his place to pry into her life.

All this time he had been expertly guiding the raft across the waters, and they reached an alcove in a stone wall. Erik tied up the raft and helped her to disembark. The alcove turned out to be the entrance to a tunnel, which he led her down, holding her hand to guide her. The tunnel they perused branched off in several directions, but Erik continued going straight. They came to a great chamber, lit by too many candles to count. Within was a couch, an old armchair, several bookshelves stuffed with books, and a piano with a violin case resting on top.

"Wow," was all that Rayne could say, and she immediately berated herself mentally for saying something so stupid. Erik seemed pleased by her reaction, however. "How did you get this tuff down here?"

"Carefully," replied Erik. "And over many weeks. But it's worth it. It's really cozy down here."

"So, do you demand a salary and the use of Box Five?" teased Rayne. Erik only laughed.

"Nope. I just live here and am glad that no one knows of me. Now, your hand."

"Oh! Right, right, I had forgotten." Rayne looked down at her bloody hand. The handkerchief wasn't enough to stanch the flow from her palm, and blood was dripping from it like an over-soaked sponge. Erik disappeared for a moment into another room, and returned with medical supplies.

"Here, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the couch. Rayne sat, and he knelt on the floor in front of her, removing the sodden handkerchief, applying antibiotic ointment, and wrapping her hand up in gauze. "There. That'll hold for a while. You'll need to change it regularly for a while, and keep reapplying the medicine. How long are you staying here anyway?"

"Twenty-four hours," replied Rayne. Erik stared. "I'm sorry, I didn't know there was anyone here. I just wanted to show those snot-nosed city kids up."

"Oh no, I don't want you to leave! I'm just surprised, that's all. No one's ever stayed that long."

"I wonder why." They looked at each other and laughed. Rayne noticed suddenly that Erik hadn't removed his theatrical mask yet. "Isn't that mask uncomfortable?" To her surprise, Erik looked away from her. "What's wrong?"

"It's…well I…oh, nothing," he said in a tone that let Rayne know that he didn't want to discuss it further. She frowned, confused.

"Are you all right?" she asked, noticing Erik was shaking a little.

"I'm fine!" he said a little shortly. Rayne was silent for a moment. She knew she shouldn't say anything, from past experience when she got angry at people for continuing to question her even after she had said she was fine, she wanted to be left alone. But she couldn't keep the soft words from escaping her lips:

"You can talk to me, Erik."

Silence descended once again. Finally Erik sighed, rose up and sat on the couch next to her.

"You know, curiosity killed the cat," he said.

"Ah, but satisfaction brought _her _back," replied Rayne with a smile.

"Good answer," said Erik, reflecting her smile but not exactly returning it. "Damn it." Rayne arched an eyebrow questioningly. "All right. I was attending a performance above with my mother. We were having a good time for the first time since my dad died. I thought nothing could go wrong. I was horribly wrong in that. There was an accident, a terrible accident. The chandelier broke when it came swinging down towards the stage at the end of Act One. Many people were hurt. My mom died. And I…well, I survived, but I've hidden away ever since. Everyone else had the common sense to duck down, drop to the floor, cover their heads and faces. I was trying to help my mom. I was hit in the face by flying, burning hot glass and metal."

"By the gods," whispered Rayne.

"Yes," said Erik tiredly, heavily. "I don't just wear this mask to scare off kids who come poking around here. I wear it to hide. So I suppose I really am the Phantom of the Majestic. Ironic, isn't it?" Rayne couldn't answer. She just stared at him. Erik looked pained. "Don't tell me you're going to be like all the others! Don't be another Christine, Rayne." Rayne still didn't answer. Then her mouth twitched a little, like she was trying to hide a smile.

"You think this is funny?!" shouted Erik, jumping off the couch in fury. "I thought you were different, I _trusted_ you, and you think it's _funny?!"_

"Not in the least," replied Rayne, and a tear inexplicably escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek. Strangely, it seemed to cut through the skin, for her skin was lighter where the tear-track ran than the rest of her face. Now it was Erik's turn to stare.

"Rayne?" he asked softly. Rayne smiled shakily and shook her head.

"I have something I have to tell you," she whispered. And, taking the blood-sullied handkerchief from the table in front of the couch, she rubbed at her face. And her face began to drip and run like melting wax…


	6. Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

Erik just stared at Rayne as her face seemed to melt right off her skull. It was rather frightening, really, considering that there was blood running down as well as what appeared to be flesh. He realized that it was not flesh, but makeup that dripped down her face. He couldn't speak, only stare, aghast, at the sight that met his eyes. Rayne dropped the bloody handkerchief and tossed her hair back out of her face and just stood silently, waiting for Erik's reaction. When he didn't speak, she did:

"I was in that accident too, Erik."

Erik could only nod slightly, understanding that. Nearly half of Rayne's face was twisted and red, burned forever. The skin appeared to bubble, and it looked like her eye itself was crying, dripping down her cheek like a tear.

"The doctor's couldn't do anything," she said softly. "There was too much risk of doing more harm than good in undergoing reconstructive surgery. There just wasn't enough skin left. I've had to hide behind this façade of makeup for years. But kids still saw me. There were several occasions. Once I was in a school play, and I had to cry in one scene. Well, let me put it this way: the makeup wasn't waterproof. And there was an end-of-the-year water balloon fight once, and I was hit in the face. I had to transfer schools so many times. Finally I just refused to go back to school. My parents both have teaching degrees. I insisted that they home-school me. They couldn't refuse me. They didn't have the heart." She paused, looking at Erik. "Say something," she pleaded softly.

"You _are_ different from all the others," he said softly. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I'm so sorry."

"It is already forgiven and forgotten," said Rayne with a smile. "So don't worry about it." There was a pause. "This is 'Phantom of the Opera' the way it should have been. Christine is understanding and compassionate instead of naïve and just outright stupid, superficial and shallow. There is no Raoul to come and botch everything up. This strange, dark love affair breeds true and strong and everlasting." She broke off with a slight gasp, as though she couldn't believe what she had said. The two just stood staring at each other for some time.

"Oh my God," whispered Erik softly. He drew closer to her, and she did not move away. "Rayne, I…I think I…"

"Yes, I think I do too…" she said softly, touching his cheek. "I think…I think…"

"I think I love you," whispered Erik, so softly that he wondered if she had even heard him. Tears filled her eyes and she smiled and nodded.

"I've never felt this way before," she said softly. "It's…a little scary."

"Yeah," agreed Erik with a small laugh. "But at least we're scared together, right?"

"Right," said Rayne, smiling wider. Tentatively, she moved her hands to his shoulders, finally putting them around him completely, pulling herself to him. She felt his arms around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. She had told people she loved them before. She told her parents every night before she went to bed. She had said she had a "crush" on someone. But never once did she ever feel anything when she said these things. Erik was different. Her lips formed the words, and she felt a dizzy, spinning feeling in her stomach. She felt as though she was flying, high above the world and all its cares and concerns. There was nothing but her and Erik. She moved back a little and smiled up at him, looking directly into his eyes. He smiled back and took her hands in his, gently guiding them to the mask he wore and letting her pull it away. He looked much like she did: flesh burned and twisted, drooping eye, and many small scars from where the flying shards of glass had cut him.

"Even if there was something they could have done," he said softly, "I couldn't have afforded it. I didn't care. I had just lost the last person in the world whom I loved and who loved me. Why should I care how I looked anymore? Who would care? So I came down here. And here I've stayed."

"How do you survive?" asked Rayne.

"Whenever I require something, I leave at night and steal it," replied Erik. "No one knows about me, so no one could suspect me. Besides, I never take anything that someone would truly miss, just food and clothes when I need them. And then the theatre closed down, and stupid street rats began sneaking in. I only started deliberately scaring them off when they came too close to finding me. I didn't want them…I didn't want anybody. No one could know about me. And then I heard you sing. I admit, I opened the trapdoor beneath you, but I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I began to wonder who you were, this street-wise country girl who sings like an angel-"

"-and curses like a sailor," Rayne finished for him. He laughed, then looked surprised that he had.

"I haven't laughed in a long time," he said. "I haven't really _felt_ anything in a long time. But now, with you here with me, I feel so much. I don't know what I feel."

"Vertigo?" suggested Rayne. Erik laughed again and hugged her. She hugged him tightly, as though she wanted never to let go. "I think I love you too."

"Oh Rayne…Rayne…"

_"Rayne…"_

The two broke apart abruptly. "What was that?" asked Rayne.

"Rats?" suggested Erik uncertainly.

"Rats don't call out in human voices," said Rayne. They stood silently, holding each other without realizing it. Presently, Erik cleared his throat.  
"Well, um, it's late," he said. "We're both tired. That's probably it."

"Yeah, yeah," said Rayne, though she continued searching the darkness. "We're tired…"

"Uh, right, I promised you a comfortable place to sleep. Come with me." He took her hand and led her through his lair to a room with a rather large bed in it, big enough for at least three or four people.

"How on Earth did you get this down here?" asked Rayne curiously.

"It fell," replied Erik simply. "This is the bed they used for the _Il Muto_ scene in the musical. It got left on the stage, and the trapdoors couldn't take the weight for so long and just broke open. It landed down here. Well, I couldn't just get rid of it so I just kept it. I fixed the trapdoors before anyone found out, and no one ever knew what happened."

"It looks comfortable," commented Rayne, watching Erik to check his reaction.

"Yeah," was all he said. "Well, good-night." He turned to leave.

"Aren't you staying with me?"

He turned back in surprise. "Er…well I…" he fumbled for a response. "Wouldn't it be kind of weird?"

"The bed's so big, I hardly think it makes a difference," replied Rayne. "Besides, I don't mind. That is, as long as _you_ don't mind…"

"I don't mind," said Erik quickly. Both were blushing furiously by now, averting their gazes.

"Uh, right then," said Rayne, sitting on the edge of the huge bed and slowly removing her heavy boots. Erik went around to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge for a moment before turning around. Rayne was watching him, smiling a little. Returning the smile, Erik reached and switched off the bedside lamp next to him. He heard Rayne moving on the bed, laying herself down comfortably. He followed suit.

"Good-night," he said softly.

"Good-night," she replied. He didn't know how long he lay there thinking about it, but the next thing Erik knew he was sliding over next to her and laying alongside her.

"Rayne, I love you," he sang softly in her ear. He couldn't see, but she made a small, content sound and put her hand on his, which was lying on her stomach. He could almost hear her smile. Smiling himself, he laid his head down and fell asleep.

A/N: Sorry if I seem to be moving a little fast in this chapter, but having never had a love-life of any kind I tend to rush things a little. My apologies.


End file.
